Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Advances in
Crowdfunding
Research and Practice
Advances in Crowdfunding
Rotem Shneor • Liang Zhao
Bjørn-Tore Flåten
Editors
Advances
in Crowdfunding
Research and Practice
Editors
Rotem Shneor Liang Zhao
School of Business and Law School of Business and Law
University of Agder University of Agder
Kristiansand, Norway Kristiansand, Norway
Bjørn-Tore Flåten
School of Business and Law
University of Agder
Kristiansand, Norway
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2020. This book is an open access publication.
Open Access This book is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0
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adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate
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indicate if changes were made.
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In loving memory of Prof. Andreas Wyller Falkenberg, an inspirational
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Acknowledgements
The authors are grateful for the support of the University of Agder’s
Library grant for Open Access Publications, as well as the management of
the University of Agder’s School of Business and Law for their unequivo-
cal and generous support in making this book project a reality.
vii
Contents
ix
x Contents
17 Crowdfunding Sustainability393
Natalia Maehle, Pia Piroschka Otte, and Natalia Drozdova
Index 521
Notes on Contributors
xiii
xiv Notes on Contributors
cles for global FinTech web media such as Crowdfund Insider and
Techfoliance. He received his PhD from Amsterdam Business School at
the University of Amsterdam in the Netherlands and his cum laude bach-
elor and master’s degrees from Jilin University in China.
Tania Ziegler is the lead in Global Benchmarking at the Cambridge
Centre for Alternative Finance (CCAF) and manages the centre’s alterna-
tive finance benchmarking programme which spans Europe, the Americas,
Asia Pacific and the Middle East and Africa. She has authored more than
a dozen industry reports since joining the CCAF. She is an expert in SME
finance and leads the Centre’s work on SME Access to Finance in Latin
America. She holds an MSc from the London School of Economics (LSE)
and a BA from Loyola College in Maryland. Tania is a 2010 Fulbright
Scholar and has spent a period at the International University of Business
and Economics in Beijing, China.
List of Figures
xxiii
xxiv List of Figures
xxv
xxvi List of Tables
Crowdfunding Stakeholders
At the core of crowdfunding practice lies an expectation for a “win-win”
game, where all parties enjoy various benefits from their involvement in
the process, as highlighted in Fig. 1.1. The three main parties to crowd-
funding transactions include the fundraiser, the backer, and the platform.
Accordingly, in the context of crowdfunding, a Fundraiser can be defined
as any individual or organization that makes a public call for the financ-
ing of project(s) with particular purpose(s). Literature has referred to
them as either “fundraisers” (e.g. Wang et al. 2018), “creators” (e.g. Ryu
and Kim 2018), or “campaigners” (e.g. Hobbs et al. 2016). Successful
fundraisers may reap benefits from the money received, as well as from
market validation outcomes that arise from wide public acceptance and
support, establishing relations with prospective customers, engaging in
cost-efficient marketing promotions, as well as collecting feedback that
may inform further product development efforts (Frydrych et al. 2014;
Thürridl and Kamleitner 2016; Wald et al. 2019).
Platform
In dir eal
di ec fo
In pp
re t r
A
ct Inc cre
pr om at
om e or
co s t
In ser ten
ot
io
U on
n
e
C
s
n
Co ecu t fa
io
en nit y
at
m re cili
S rus
ym mu log
m pa ta
ilit
tf y
un ym tio
Pa om no
ac
ity e n
C ech
T
nt
s
Patronage
Market influence
Products/Services/Investments
Fundraiser Backer
Funding
Feedback
Fans/ Customers
medium sized businesses in their jurisdictions (as job creators and tax
payers), as well as enabling greater public contributions to civic, cultural,
educational, and environmental initiatives that may align with govern-
ment policies and agenda. Research here has both theorized about
(Kshetri 2015) and empirically showed a clear positive association
between perceived adequacy of national crowdfunding regulation and
crowdfunding volumes per capita both globally and regionally (Ziegler
et al. 2019, 2020).
crowdlending seems to have the highest success rates. Hence, the focus
on a certain sustainability dimension may influence the choice of the
crowdfunding model employed.
Chapter 17 discussed crowdfunding applications in the cultural indus-
tries. In this chapter, Rykkja and colleagues trace the early adoption of
crowdfunding by cultural industries to a comprehensive value chain
reconfiguration in the cultural sector, which were triggered by the advent
of digitalization on the one hand and the downsizing in public funds in
many countries on the other. The authors highlight the importance of
studying crowdfunding in the cultural sector, as it presses creators to
strike a balance between the commercial and the non-commercial, the
economic and the cultural outcomes, as well as the authentic and inde-
pendent versus the mass dictated and dependent. Accordingly, they
review earlier research on cultural crowdfunding, identify core themes
that attracted research attention, and outline an agenda for future
research.
In Chap. 18, Wenzlaff discusses civic crowdfunding, as when crowd-
funding campaigns are used for funding the creation or provision of a
semi-public good. Unlike other crowdfunding practices, civic crowd-
funding creates benefits for people outside of the group of supporters as
well. Such a situation creates unique dilemmas as well as motivations for
participation. This chapter analyses the literature on civic crowdfunding
and proposes to view this through four perspectives: the project, the sup-
porter, the project owner, and the platform. The chapter argues that the
platform is central to understanding the self-positioning of projects, sup-
porters, and project owners within civic crowdfunding.
Finally, the concluding fifth part of the book includes two chapters
addressing future considerations for crowdfunding research and practice.
Chapter 19 highlights the importance of education about crowdfunding
highlighting both its benefits and advantages, as well as its risks and chal-
lenges. Here, Shneor & Flåten argue on the need for crowdfunding educa-
tion, and present a concrete program developed at the University of
Agder as a credit awarding course named the “UiA Crowdfunding Lab”.
This chapter outlines course objectives, content, pedagogy, and assess-
ment issues, while presenting opportunities for further development.
1 Introduction: From Fundamentals to Advances… 15
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Open Access This chapter is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons
Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/
by/4.0/), which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction
in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original
author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons licence and
indicate if changes were made.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
chapter’s Creative Commons licence, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line
to the material. If material is not included in the chapter’s Creative Commons
licence and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds
the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from the copy-
right holder.
Part I
The Current State of Crowdfunding
2
Crowdfunding Models, Strategies,
and Choices Between Them
Rotem Shneor
Introduction
During the last decade, the emergence and growing popularity of crowd-
funding were manifested and promoted through the proliferation of
thousands of online crowdfunding platforms worldwide. A crowdfund-
ing platform is “an internet application bringing together project owners
and their potential backers, as well as facilitating exchanges between
them, according to a variety of business models” (Shneor and Flåten
2015, p. 188). According to Méric et al. (2016) most platforms have the
following characteristics in common: first, providing fundraisers with
campaign presentation formats for their project, which is accessible to all
online users; second, allowing small to medium sized financial transac-
tions that enable widespread participation while keeping risks within rea-
sonable limit; and, third, provide relevant financial information about
R. Shneor (*)
School of Business and Law, University of Agder, Kristiansand, Norway
e-mail: rotem.shneor@uia.no
the campaign and its progress, as well as communication tools for inter-
action between prospective backers and fundraisers. In addition, some
platforms also provide advice, social media PR functionalities, as well as
referrals to other supporting services (ibid.).
The operation of platforms is overseen by regulation in each national
jurisdiction (Gajda 2017). In addition, self-regulation is also evident
through codes of conduct developed by industry associations for their
member platforms (Wenzlaff and Odorovic 2020), as well as in rules and
procedures developed by platforms themselves for own campaign approval
and user verification. Nevertheless, dependency on legal compliance
often results in a more constrained scope of operation both in geographi-
cal and functional terms. Here, while some platforms have developed
into global giants (i.e. Kickstarter, Indiegogo, Gofundme, etc.) or regional
actors (i.e. Latvia-based Mintos covering Eastern Europe, Finland-based
Investor covering the Nordic countries, etc.), thus far, most platforms
remain local and have a domestic focus or very limited international
scope of activities (regulatory and international aspects of platform oper-
ations will be covered in greater detail in later chapters).
At this stage, it is also worth noting that in addition to platforms,
crowdfunding activity also exists in the form of ‘individual crowdfunding
campaigns’ (Belleflamme et al. 2013), which are individual- or
organization-specific fundraising efforts carried outside formal platform
control and oversight. However, due to the latter’s sporadic nature, non-
systematic approach, and limited scope within private networks, most
research documents crowdfunding with respect to platform activities and
not with respect to individual campaigning efforts.
In the current chapter we present crowdfunding model types and their
different characteristics. This will be followed by a discussion of how fun-
draisers may choose the best crowdfunding model for their own project’s
fundraising needs. The chapter will then conclude by highlighting its
main contributions, limitations, as well as implications for research and
practice.
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eight a.m. and five p.m. is quite incredible. I have always kept an
exact record, in my register of negatives, of all details of weather and
light, but nevertheless I have not escaped failure—so difficult is it to
judge the intensity of light in the tropics. One night, one may have
the satisfaction of finding, when developing the day’s work, that by
good luck all the exposures have been right. Next day the weather is
precisely the same—you take the same stop, and expose for the same
length of time—and yet, when evening comes, you find that every
plate is over or under exposed. This is not exhilarating. Then there is
the perpetual worry about the background. Unfortunately, I have
brought no isochromatic plates; but the want of them is partly
supplied by a huge tarpaulin which I originally took with me to cover
my baggage at night, but which never served this purpose. Even
before leaving Masasi, we fastened it between two bamboo poles, and
covered one side of it with one or two lengths of sanda. Since then I
have always used it in photographing when the sun is high, to screen
off a too-strongly illuminated background. And if nothing else will
serve, the strongest of my men hold the screen over the object, when
I find myself obliged to take an important photograph with the sun
directly overhead.
Next come the phonograph cylinders. The extremely high
temperature of the lowlands has deprived me of the opportunity of
making some valuable records—a loss which must be borne with
what philosophy I can summon to my aid. It is the easier to do so,
that, in spite of the drawbacks referred to, I have only five left out of
my five-dozen cylinders, and for these, too, I can find an excellent
use; to-morrow they shall be covered with the finest Nyamwezi
melodies. As to the cinematograph, I must remember that I am a
pioneer, and as such must not only incur all the inconvenience
involved in the imperfections of an industry as yet in its infancy, but
take the risk of all the dangers which threaten gelatine films in the
tropics. It certainly does not dispose one to cheerfulness, when
Ernemann writes from Dresden that my last consignment of films
has again proved a failure; but I have given over worrying over things
of this sort, ever since my vexation at the fall of my 9 x 12 cm. camera
let me in for the severe fever I went through at Chingulungulu.
Besides, I know, by those I have developed myself, that about two-
thirds of my thirty-eight cinematograph records must be fairly good,
or at least good enough to use, and that is a pretty fair proportion for
a beginner. Over twenty such imperishable documents of rapidly
disappearing tribal life and customs—I am quite disposed to
congratulate myself!
But my chief ground for pride is the quantity, and even more the
quality of my ethnological and sociological notes, which surely will
not be an entirely valueless contribution to our knowledge of the East
African native. As a stranger in the country, I could not, of course, in
the short time at my disposal, survey all the departments of native
life, but I have made detailed studies of a great many. I must not
forget my exceptional good fortune with regard to the unyago; the
elucidation of these mysteries would alone have amply repaid the
journey.
To conclude with my ethnographic collection. In the Congo basin,
and in West Africa I should probably, in the same space of time, have
been able, without any difficulty, to get together a small ship-load of
objects, while here in the East a collection of under two thousand
numbers represents the material culture of tribes covering a whole
province. The number of individual specimens might, indeed, have
been increased, but not that of categories, so thoroughly have I
searched the native villages and rummaged their huts one by one.
After all, the East African native is a poor man.
But what is the use of speculating as to what is attainable or
unattainable? The sun is shining brightly, the woods are fresh and
green after the shower, and some of the askari are lounging against
the palisade in a picturesque if untidy group. The metamorphosis
undergone by our native warrior in the course of the day is certainly
surprising. Smart and active on the drill-ground—they look on their
drill as a kind of game, and call it playing at soldiers—he is just the
reverse, from our German point of view, in the afternoon and
evening.
It must be acknowledged that he knows how to make himself
comfortable when off duty. He has his boy to wait on him, even to
take his gun from his hand the moment the word has been given to
“dismiss”; and the respect commanded, in Africa as elsewhere, by
anything in the shape of a uniform secures him the best of everything
wherever he goes. He lounges through the hot hours on his host’s
most commodious bedstead, and, when evening comes on, sallies
forth in fatigue dress to captivate the girls of the place. They are less
charming, it is true, than those of Lindi, but a man has to take what
he can get. The slovenly figures in the photograph are those of
Lumbwula and the Nubian Achmed Mohammed, taking their ease in
this fashion.
My release from work and worry has worked miracles,
physiologically speaking;—I sleep in my bed like a hibernating bear,
wield a mighty knife and fork at table and increase in circumference
almost perceptibly from day to day. Moreover, we have been living
fairly well for the last few weeks. The first case of porter was followed
by a second, and various other delights came up at the same time
from Lindi—genuine unadulterated milk from the blessed land of
Mecklenburg, fresh pumpernickel, new potatoes from British East
Africa, tinned meats and fruits in abundance, and so forth. The lean
weeks of Newala are forgotten, and our not much more luxurious
sojourn at Chingulungulu recedes into the misty past. The evenings,
too, are pleasant and leisurely. As decreed by a kindly destiny, I find
that I have still some plates left, but no chemicals for developing and
fixing, so that I can photograph as much as I like, while compelled to
dispense with the trying work of developing the plates in the close
tent. Omari has provided a spatchcocked fowl for our evening meal,
which smells inviting and tastes delicious. He has here revived for
our benefit the primitive process of roasting already known to
prehistoric man, which consists of simply holding the meat over the
fire till done. Only one innovation has been introduced: after
splitting up the carcase of the fowl, Omari has rubbed salt and
pepper into it. This, though historically incorrect, improves the
flavour so much that it is quite a pardonable piece of vandalism.
Here come my carriers, issuing with clean clothes and radiant
faces from their temporary lodgings in one of the thatched huts of
the boma. They know that in the next few days we are going on
safari again, the goal in view being this time the eagerly anticipated
paradise of the coast. And they will be receiving uncounted sums of
money at Lindi. Many a time have they grumbled at the Bwana
Mkubwa, because he refused them an advance, when they wanted so
very much to make a present to some pretty girl in a neighbouring
village. They had even been directly asked for such presents, but the
Bwana Pufesa made a point of saying to any man who wanted a trifle
of a loan, “Nenda zako”—(“Be off with you”). He was very hard, was
the Bwana Pufesa, but it was best so, after all; for now we shall get
all the money paid down at once—it must be over forty rupees. What
times we shall have at Lindi—not to mention Dar es Salam! And we
will go to the Indian’s store and buy ourselves visibau finer even than
the ones sported by those apes of Waswahili.
The crimson glow of the sunset is still lingering on the western
horizon, while the full moon is rising in the east, behind the great
spreading tree, under which my camera has been planted day after
day for the last few weeks; and I am watching the spectacle, stretched
comfortably in my long chair, and at the same time listening to the
chant of the Wanyamwezi.
With all respect to my camp bed, I find that I can sleep much more
comfortably on the couch provided here by the Imperial District
Commissioner, with its three-foot-six mattress and spacious
mosquito-net: luxuries which I have been enjoying for the last week,
having marched into Lindi with flying colours on November 17th,
after a toilsome and difficult journey.
The outward aspect of the little town is much the same as when I
left it in July, but the European population has changed to a
surprising degree. Hardly any of the old residents are left, but the
number of new arrivals from Germany is so great that there is some
difficulty in getting lodgings. If we were in an English colony, I
should say that there is just now a boom at Lindi; as it is, we may say
that capital has discovered the southern districts and is setting about
their economic exploitation. It is said that all the good land in the
neighbourhood of Lindi is already taken up, and later comers will
perforce have to put up with more distant estates. While personally
delighted to hear that the southern province, which has become very
dear to me in the course of my stay, is thus prospering, I am too
much occupied with my own affairs to have any further concern in
these transactions.
First came the paying off of the numerous extra carriers whom I
had been obliged to hire for the transport of the collections made at
Mahuta. The amount paid out was not great, as the recipients had
not been called upon to perform an excessive amount of work. All
over the Makonde plateau I found that the carriers who arrived in
time for the start on any given day, marched with the caravan as far
as that night’s halting-place, but as regularly disappeared before the
next morning, in spite of the sentries posted all round our camp. This
unreliability caused me much vexation and loss of temper, besides
the waste of time in engaging fresh men; but, on the other hand, I
saved, in every such case, the day’s wages, which these deserters
never gave me the chance of paying them. After passing the Kiheru
valley and getting into the Yao country we had no more trouble, the
men there being quite willing to go as far as the coast.
My Wanyamwezi carriers have already left for the north. On the
23rd I saw them on board the steamer, a much larger and finer boat
than the Rufiji in which they suffered such misery on the down trip.
Probably they are indulging in happy dreams of a speedy return to
their far inland homes, and of the way in which they mean to lay out
the capital knotted into their waistcloths; but in reality they will
probably, on the day after landing, find themselves starting on a
fresh expedition with the “chop-boxes” of some other white man on
their heads. At this time, just before the rains, carriers are very
scarce, and they are sure to be seized on at once. I am thus
dependent for packing my collections—the cases previously sent
down to the coast having been stored in the cellars of the
Government offices, where they have remained undisturbed except
by the innumerable rats—on myself and my remaining men. Among
these, for the time being, I can still reckon Knudsen, who lends a
hand right willingly, in spite of his melancholy looks. He does not
like the coast; he says the damp climate is too soft for him, and he
cannot get on with the white men. He is better accustomed to the
washenzi in the bush, who neither worry him nor look down on him.
He is only waiting till I have left for the north, before going west once
more after antelope and elephant.
“Why, I thought you had had enough of that sort of thing,” was my
well-meant remark, as I glanced at his right arm, of which, he says,
he has not yet recovered the full use. It is a terrible story.
I was sitting at dinner one afternoon, trying to eat some
mysterious compound out of a Portuguese tin, which proved on
examination to be bacon and beans (probably a part of the stores
originally laid in for Vasco da Gama’s expedition), when I heard
Moritz’s nasal voice announcing, “Bwana mdogo anakuja” (“Mr.
Knudsen is coming”). I turned round and saw him dragging himself
along with uncertain steps; he was covered with dust, his clothes
were torn, and his right arm in a sling.
“Well, old Nimrod, has the elephant tusked you?” I called out to
him, not taking matters very seriously.
“Not that. I only fell and broke my arm—but my poor
Wanduwandu is dead. He died just now;—here they come with him.”
In fact at this moment I saw a group of men busy over something
at the narrow door of the boma; but the crowd was too great to see
what it was. My first care was to attend to Knudsen’s arm, which was
badly swollen, though I could discover no indication of a fracture.
The only thing to be done, therefore, was to apply cold water
bandages and support the arm in as easy a position as possible.
Knudsen dropped into his chair like a log and sank into gloomy
thought, while I went to look at the corpse. It was laid out on a
kitanda or native bedstead, under a shady tree at the other end of the
boma, and scantily covered with a cloth; the mouth was open, the
glassy eyes staring vacantly. Hemedi Maranga came up and closed
them, while I examined the injuries. I could find no serious wound;
the tips of the fingers were crushed and bleeding, and the skin
slightly grazed on the left temple, which also showed a moderate-
sized swelling, but that was all. Notwithstanding this, the Wali and I
agreed that the swelling must indicate the cause of death, and on
feeling the head, we found that the skull was broken. The man must
have received a terrible blow, but a blow with some soft object,
otherwise the outside of the head would have been shattered.
The afternoon brought plenty of work. The dead man was sewn up
in a piece of the sanda I had, in accordance with custom, brought
with me, never dreaming that I should have to apply it to its
traditional use. The grave was dug outside the boma just beyond the
crest of the hill. I had fixed the time of the funeral at sunset; but
about three I found that Wanduwandu’s friends and relations,
thinking this too long to wait, had carried off the corpse in order to
proceed with the obsequies on their own account; so that I had to
send off my fleetest runner with orders to have it brought back again.
At six my whole troop was drawn up on funeral parade. Here, too, I
noticed the instinctive tact of the native; every man was in full-dress
uniform, though I had given no orders to that effect, and Hemedi
Maranga was wearing his medal. Of all the natives with whom I have
come in contact, Wanduwandu attracted me most; he was a splendid
figure of a man, the only one I ever saw who exemplified the
“Herculean build” one so often hears of. At the same time he was
quiet, dignified, and yet fully conscious of his strength. He had
accompanied the expedition for some months, liked by all and hated
by none. I felt it quite a matter of course that I should put on a clean
white suit to convoy him on his last journey, though he was “only” a
native.
I had already seen and photographed a number of Yao graves, but,
apart from human sympathy, I was naturally interested in witnessing
a native funeral, and therefore did not attempt to interfere in the
least with the people’s arrangements. The grave had been dug of the
same shape as in Europe, but much shallower, being not much over a
yard in depth; and the men had also made it much too short. Two of
the bystanders at once came forward to lengthen it, while the corpse
was waiting to be lowered; but not altogether successfully, for if in
future times any excavations are undertaken on that spot a skeleton
will be found lying on its side, with the knees drawn up in a squatting
position.[70] Mats were spread over the body to prevent its coming in
contact with the bare earth, which the native likes to avoid, even in
death. Now, however, comes an exotic touch. Daudi, the native
pastor from Chingulungulu, had been with us for some days, having
been sent for by me, that I might talk over some points in my notes
with him. Wanduwandu had remained a heathen; in fact, when
Knudsen and I, as we often did, asked him, teasingly, whether he
would not rather become a Muslim, or even a Christian, he always
shook his head with a calm air of superiority, and said that what was
good enough for his fathers was good enough for him. Nevertheless,
Daudi was in attendance at the grave, and now spoke a few words in
Swahili, in which I clearly distinguished, “Udongo kwa udongo,
majivu kwa majivu” (“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes”). A few boys—I
had not previously known that there were any Christians at Mahuta
—then sang a short hymn in hushed, grave voices, as the sun sank
glowing in the west; Daudi softly uttered a prayer, and the first
shovelfuls of yellow sand fell with a dull sound on the wrappings of
the corpse. My soldiers marched away in precise order, the rest of the
crowd followed, laughing and joking. Death? What more is there to
say about it? It may happen any day; that cannot be helped. Kismet!
To-day, the visitor to Mahuta will find on the spot referred to, a
plain, low, but well-built structure—a thatched roof supported on
posts, and looking accurately east and west, with pieces of coloured
calico fluttering in the breeze from its ridge-pole. This marks
Wanduwandu’s grave.
WANDUWANDU’S GRAVE
But it was only after the funeral was over that Nils Knudsen’s
mourning really began. In his speculative way, he has been brooding
over the cause of death. It was directly caused—there can be no
doubt about that—by the elephant, a huge, solitary brute—a “rogue,”
in fact. Knudsen first fired a couple of shots at him, and then his
followers, people from the Nkundi plain, poured a whole volley from
their muzzle-loaders on the unlucky beast. The elephant sank on his
knees, but pulled himself up again with his trunk, and charged the
hunters. All at once made for the rendezvous agreed on, but Knudsen
fell while running, spraining his arm and losing his gun, which was
flung into the bushes by the shock of his fall. When, after some time,
they missed Wanduwandu, Knudsen returned to the scene of the
encounter and heard a low groaning. He thought at first that it
proceeded from the wounded elephant, but soon found his faithful
follower lying senseless under a heap of branches. Knudsen did not
notice whether the elephant’s tracks passed close to this spot or not,
and indeed even now he does not clearly recollect the details of the
tragedy. It may be assumed with tolerable certainty that
Wanduwandu, who had the reputation of a brave, even a rash
hunter, crossed the track of the infuriated animal and was struck
down. The blood spoor of the elephant was lost in the bush.
This, then, is the direct cause of death, and for matter-of-fact
Europeans it would be quite enough, but in this country it is
otherwise. “It is that confounded fat woman’s fault; she deceived him
once before, and I expect she has been at the same games again.”
Such is the conclusion arrived at by Nils, who has quite fallen into
native ways of thinking. My researches at Chingulungulu had
revealed to me the universality of the belief that if a man’s wife is
unfaithful to him while he is hunting elephants in the bush, he will
be sure to meet with a fatal accident. I was told of a number of cases
which had actually happened, and even the names of the people
concerned. Wanduwandu’s wife is a buxom woman who, according
to native ideas, is strikingly handsome—rotundity and beauty being
equivalent terms in this country—and wears a nose-pin of unusual
size and beautifully inlaid. It is therefore quite natural that she
should be much admired, and, taking this circumstance in
connection with her husband’s violent death, for these African
intellects, and for Nils Knudsen as well, the logical inference is that,
because the man has been killed his wife must have betrayed him.
It will be understood that I was at first very sceptical as to this
interpretation; but I must now confess that there is really something
in it, only that the links in the chain of cause and effect follow each
other in a somewhat different order of time. The woman is, as a
matter of fact, indirectly responsible for her husband’s death.
Knudsen now remembers that Wanduwandu was strangely excited
and reckless throughout the expedition, and I have heard from other
quarters that the plump wife has always been a great coquette, and
that there was a violent scene between the couple immediately before
his departure. Here we have the key to the whole enigma; the
elephant did not kill the hunter who in his confusion blundered into
his way, because the man’s wife was at that moment flirting with
another, but because the wife’s behaviour had already driven the
man almost to desperation. In any case it is instructive to see how
occurrences of this sort, several times repeated, come to be accepted
as laws of nature.
Wanduwandu’s death did not change the date of our departure,
which was already fixed; but it was noticeable that even our men
were more eager to get away than before.
After the tragedy Knudsen found himself engaged in an obstinate
contest with the widow, who, taking advantage of the situation, tried
to bind him by contract—on the ground that he after all was the only
one to blame for her husband’s death—to supply her with six new
dresses a year. On the other side he was attacked by the relatives of
the deceased, who suddenly appeared in swarms, like vultures, and
demanded the arrears of pay due to him. But it was a case of Greek
meeting Greek, and Nils finally decided to pay over the money to the
widow. I thought that, in that case, she would be murdered before
she reached Mchauru, and suggested that he should send a
messenger to deposit the money with Matola, as the headman of
Wanduwandu’s native district. It was explained to the woman that
she could claim her property—it amounted to the enormous sum of
four rupees and three quarters—whenever she might so desire; but
probably she failed to understand this. At any rate, on her departure,
which took place on the day after Knudsen’s final refusal to contract
for an annual supply of clothing, the cook, Latu, missed a quantity of
ground-nuts and some other eatables from his master’s stores. “Let
her just come again, that’s all!” said Nils, outwardly indignant, but in
reality visibly relieved. There is no ground for uneasiness; such a
beauty is not likely to remain long unwooed in a country like this,
and in all probability she is married again by this time.
Notwithstanding this, Nils still urges our departure.
Another circumstance has been making my stay at Mahuta less
and less agreeable. Even at Nchichira the daily devotions of the
headman and other Muhammadans had been a trial, beginning
before daybreak and repeated at noon and evening. Here the
adherents of the Prophet are more numerous, and their faith more
fervid, besides which we are now well into Ramadan. If my men are
amusing me with their songs, or themselves with new ngoma dances,
which they have an astonishing facility in inventing, their noise
drowns the muttering and whining of the nineteen or twenty
devotees under the Wali’s baraza. But if the latter can be heard
alone, the effect is simply terrible. The Wali leads the exercises; his
voice is not in any case melodious, but when uttering itself in Arabic
gutturals, it fairly gets on one’s nerves, especially when the noise
goes on till after ten at night. Unfortunately it is quite impossible to
interfere, even if my principles as to religious toleration did not
forbid it. However, I made an energetic and successful protest
against the Wali’s habit of conversing at the top of his voice for a
considerable time after dismissing his congregation, and all the time
spitting copiously into the middle of the boma square. I told him that
so long as I was in the place I was the Bwana mkubwa, and it was
my business to determine what was desturi (custom), and what was
not; and I expressly desired that he should cease to disturb my
night’s rest.
Another inducement for a speedy return to the coast was the
opportunity of securing a free passage north for my carriers by the
Kaiser Wilhelm II, which was to leave Lindi for Dar es Salam soon
after November 20. If I kept them with me till my own departure on
December 2, I should not only have to pay a good deal in extra
wages, but also a large sum in steamer-fares for them, as the boat by
which I have taken my passage belongs, not to the Government, but
to a private company. Finally, I desired to spend a short time on the
coast in order to study the records of the criminal courts—the study
of criminal psychology being of the highest importance in
ethnography.
The noise on the morning of November 12 was greater than ever.
My men leapt about the boma like sheep in a panic, and could
scarcely await the word to start. The Wali could not be denied the
privilege of escorting us for a short distance along the road. Not so
his son, a lazy, dirty rascal, who has given us every reason to
remember him by a performance he went through every evening,
when the flag was lowered for the night, seizing it, if he thought
himself unobserved, as it reached the ground, and sneezing into its
folds, or otherwise employing it as a handkerchief.
There is not much to record about the march to Luagala. The
country is level as a billiard-table, but the vegetation is far finer than
on the southern side of the plateau. For two days the road passes
through a splendid forest of large trees; human settlements, and the
horrible scrubby bush inseparable from them being entirely absent.
Shortly before we reach Luagala (which has a boma garrisoned by
half a company and commanded by a lieutenant in the Imperial
Army), the country becomes more hilly, and presents a curious
aspect. As far as the eye can see extend groves of mangoes, loaded
with fruit; but not a soul is visible, nothing but charred ruins of huts
here and there. This is the former domain of Machemba, that
remarkable Yao chieftain who, like the famous Mirambo in
Unyanyembe, was able, by the prestige of his name to gather bands
of daring spirits round him, tyrannize over the whole Makonde
plateau, and even offer effective resistance to the German troops.
The battlefields where he encountered them are still shown to the
traveller. About ten years ago, however, Machemba preferred to
leave the German territory, and has since lived on the other side of
the Rovuma, almost in sight of Nchichira, terrifying the Portuguese
for a change. The old warrior must have been an excellent organizer
in more ways than one; a stupid man would never have thought of
introducing this cultivation on the sandy soil of this particular part of
the plateau. Luagala may be well situated from a strategic point of
view, but as regards its water supply, it is worse off than any
Makonde hamlet. At present all the drinking water has to be fetched
from a place twelve or fifteen miles away.
After the long and elaborate dinner with which Lieutenant Spiegel,
in the joy of his heart at receiving a European, welcomed us, it was a
pleasure on starting once more, to walk through the cool shade of the
forest. The road sloped gently downwards for some time—then the
incline became steeper, and at last the caravan had to climb down an
almost vertical declivity to the Kiheru—a little stream of crystal
clearness. Such water is so rare in East Africa that in my delight I had
already filled my cup and was lifting it to my lips, when Hemedi
Maranga stopped me, saying, “Chungu, Bwana” (“It is bitter, sir”).
Saidi Kapote is already a typical lowland settlement, consisting of
scattered, rectangular houses of some size, with saddle-ridged,
thatched roofs. It suffers as much from the evening gale as the other
villages at the foot of the hills. Hitherto the march down to the coast
has resembled an obstacle-race, as, owing to the trouble with the
carriers already mentioned, we have every morning been late in
starting. Here, too, the Makonde engaged yesterday have vanished
without leaving a trace, and though the headman is able to supply
some men for the most important loads, we must leave behind those
less urgently needed, and trust to his promise to send them on after
us.
The last march but one begins. We are steadily advancing
eastward, along the parallel ranges which stretch in endless
monotony between the Kiheru and the Lukuledi. The caravan is now
very numerous, consisting of over a hundred persons, and in the
sandy soil, which here makes very heavy walking, the line straggles
out to such a length that both ends are never in sight at once.
However, we press onward untiringly, hour after hour. At the
Lukuledi we take a short rest; then on again. At last, about the
middle of the afternoon, after marching more than eight hours, we
camp among extensive palm and mango groves, a short hour’s walk
west of Mrweka. Everyone is quite worn out—too tired to put one
foot before the other; but even the stupidest boy in attendance on the
soldiers tosses uneasily in his dreams—for we shall be at Lindi to-
morrow, and he is looking forward to the splendour and the
enjoyments of this metropolis.
GREAT NGOMA DANCE IN THE BOMA AT MAHUTA.
Under the star-spangled tropic sky my brave fellows fall in for the
last time, and for the last time the noise of the caravan getting under
way disturbs the silence of the bush on the other side of the deep
ravine in which the Lukuledi flows. In the Indian quarter of Mrweka,
sleepy men, women with nose-rings, and gaudily dressed babies start
up in affright, when the discordant sounds of the horns blown by my
expedition reach their ears. It is quickly growing lighter, when a
khaki-clad figure seizes my mule’s bridle: it is Herr Linder, the
excellent agricultural inspector, who was the last European to say
good-bye to me at Ruaha, and is now the first to welcome me back.
His presence here is a consequence of the boom at Lindi, as he is
engaged in surveying some new plantation or other. We are off again
at a rapid pace, down a slightly inclined slope to the left; the head of
the line stops, those coming up behind him crowd on each other’s
heels; and, on riding up to see what is the matter, I find that a broad
creek bars the way. Being a stranger to the country, I must in this
case be guided by my men. These, lifting their clothes as high as their
shoulders, have waded slowly into the water. My mule resists a little
out of sheer affectation, but soon jogs on bravely after the rest. All
reach the other side without mishap, and, after a short pause to get
the whole party together again, we start in double-quick time for
Ngurumahamba, which is flooded by the springtide, the water having
almost penetrated into the houses.
We have done with the wilderness. The road, still unfinished in
July, is now in its complete state a masterpiece of engineering: it
only wants a few motor cars to be a perfect picture of twentieth-
century civilization. The last halt of any length is at the foot of Kitulo,
where Knudsen insists on taking a photograph of me with a huge
baobab as background, on the ground that I ought to be handed
down to posterity in the garb of an African explorer. My men in the
meantime have been smartening themselves up; and, very
picturesquely grouped among the bales and boxes, they are
scrubbing away at their teeth, which, as it is, could scarcely be
whiter, with a zeal which one would be only too glad to see among
some of our own compatriots. The tooth-brush (mswaki) used by
these natives, is a piece of very fibrous wood, about eight inches long,
and as thick as one’s thumb, which penetrates into every cranny of
the teeth without injuring the enamel, and looks, when in use, like an
enormous cigar. It performs its work well and is free from objection
on the score of hygiene, especially as, a new one being always easily
procurable, it need never remain in use too long.
I have just reached the top of Kitulo, and am looking back for the
last time on that part of interior Africa in which I, too, have now by
hard work won the right to be called an explorer, when Omari, the
cook, comes panting and puffing up the hill, and roars at me as soon
as he comes in sight, “Ndege amekwenda!” (“The bird has got
away!”). In fact, the cage which for some weeks past had contained a
brightly-coloured little bird—a kind of siskin—is now empty; a loose
bar shows how he gained his freedom. How pleasantly, all these
weeks, his song has enlivened the hot, dusty rest-houses in which we
have been living, and made them a little more home-like; and how
grateful he always was for the few heads of millet which sufficed for
his keep. Now, he is off, just at the moment when I was wondering
what to do with my little friend, knowing that he was not likely to
thrive in the cold northern winter, and doubting whether I could
safely entrust him to the first European I came across. His escape at
this moment has cut the knot.
MY ESCORT CLEANING THEIR TEETH